Canada: Taking on Vimy Ridge
by LittlestTrainWreck
Summary: WW1 1917. Vimy Ridge, Northern France was a perfect strategic base, held by the Germans. Every attempt to win it back ended in tragedy. Canada wants to prove himself, so what does Britain tell him to do? "Anglettere, you have signed his death warrant!"


**A/N: Alright, first entry to HistorySpeaks! Balloons anyone? I actually wrote this in mid-June, right before studying for exams started. Needless too say, I didn't need to spend too much time studying Vimy Ridge, and hell yeah, I aced it on the History Exam. 20th Century Canadian History was an awesome course. Probably my favourite class last semester. But I curse it for giving me fanfiction ideas, which apparently turn into entire accounts dedicated to history. Who knew?**

**Anywho, all of the information in here is correct, having been taken out of my history text book. See kids? Doing your homework can get you somewhere.**

**XXXXXXXXXX**

The bunker was dank and dimly lit, the only source of light a small oil lamp placed on a wooden desk, cluttered with various maps and documents. The room was headquarters to the personification of the United Kingdom, who paced about, trying to gather information to fuel the Triple Entente's next move.

This war was, to put it lightly, brutal; which was proved by the light but acrid smell of alcohol that hung in the stale air. Arthur Kirkland took a swing of brandy, a trick to numb both the mental and physical pain. His left arm was bound in a makeshift sling, just another token of the Great War. His head pounded furiously, threatening to crack his skull. The young nation trailing at his heels, arguing and trying to negotiate with him, of course, didn't help his already foul mood.

"Arthur, listen to me, you know I'm ready! I'm strong, I'm my own country now, I can do so much more if you just let me off the damn leash you have on me!" The personification of Canada pleaded.

"Matthew, just leave it alone, we don't have time for this. We are in the middle of a war here." Britain growled, trying to get his work done. It seemed the lines in Belgium were deteriorating...

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Let me have control over my own army. We could make so much more progress and-"

"Enough!" Arthur barked, whirling around to face his charge. But the look in the young man's eyes, as he stood his ground, caught the Englishman off guard. The determination, the confidence, the overwhelming will power to do what he thought was right (though he was oh-so naive,) Arthur had seen it over 100 years ago in the boy's brother. With a bitter squeeze of his heart, he steeled himself to face those eyes again. "Matthew, I just don't think you are ready. You're still too young." He spoke tensely, trying to deal with this in a calm, collected manner.

Canada narrowed his eyes, unable to stop the snarl from forming on his lips. "Alfred-"

"Don't." Britain hissed. Matthew knew better than to go there...

"Too young my ass!" Canada continued. "I wasn't too young to fight along side you in the Bohr war, the War of 1812 and the Fenian Raids, for gods sake against my own brother! How many times to do I have to prove myself to you?"

"Matthew, yes, you have proved to be a strong nation, but it doesn't change the fact that you are still under my empire, and will do as I say!" Arthur retaliated, obviously throwing away all reasonable argument for the classic 'because I said so" approach.

"You have to stop smothering me! Let me breathe! You know I can fight on my own!" Matthew begged, not a cell in his body betraying any signs of backing down.

"Fine then!" Arthur shouted, finally too exasperated to hold back. "You want to prove yourself so much? Go take Vimy!" He hissed. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, he didn't know, but what he had said never truly dawned on him. Not when Matthew walked out of the bunker with purpose, and not when he drank himself to sleep that night.

**XXXXX**

A scale model of the infamous Vimy Ridge stretched out on the beaten grass before him. Violet eyes scanned the layout, memorizing every detail, taking everything in. It was a long ridge in Northern France, the perfect placement for a military base, and was unfortunately held by the German Army. Both England and France had already tried to take it and push the Germans back, but were both horribly beaten, That's where England had injured his arm, Canada knew, because he was there with him.

Matthew had been fighting alongside Arthur from the beginning, and he trusted the older country with his life, and visa versa. They fought together, brothers in arms. Even when England was fighting for something he didn't believe in, and he had no choice, he didn't turn against him. Because he had seen what his twin's revolution did to the island nation, and Matthew knew that Arthur would have nothing left if he abandoned him in rebellion.

But he was his own country now, and he decided it was time to start taking charge of himself. All he really wanted was his allies' approval. He didn't want to be known just as Canada- England's charge, or Canada- America's brother.

So, he had to take Vimy, a seemingly impossible task. But if he was ever going to be recognized...

"The Germans have set up cement shelters along the top of the ridge. In every other attempt to take it, they've just waited out the bombing in them, and then met us head on." One of the commanding officers explained. "They take the time between attacks to prepare themselves, and with their advantage on the ridge, they mow us down."

"Then we won't give them any chances." The General replied, met with looks of confusion. "We create a curtain of explosions ahead of the soldiers, giving them time and cover to move up. Then every five minutes, we cease artillery and let the men fight, which in turn gives the artillery time to move up." He explained.

"But sir, how will the soldiers know what to do? This isn't like anything they've done before. Such a plan requires commands to be given rapidly on the move, and if we are moving as one, there is no chance to stop for commands." A lieutenant reasoned.

"That's why I want the soldiers to know the plan just as well as us ahead of time. Every man will be given a map of the area, we will run drills and simulations of the attack, and they will know what to do on their own." The General answered.

"That's unheard of! Information could be leaked to the enemy. It's too risky."

The group of men began bickering amongst themselves, those for and against the plan trying to over power the other. Finally, a throat was cleared with authority, demanding attention for what was about to be said without saying a word. All arguments stopped when Matthew Williams stepped up. "This is the only way. We are not just talking about taking the ridge. This is Canada's first time operating without Britain in the lead. This is our chance to break free and have to world recognize us. That is why we are going to do things differently. We are taking this ridge our way."

**XXXXXXXXX**

_5:28 AM, April 9th, 1917_

The sound of distant bombing was muffled by the helmet on his head, and the snow drifting down around him. The weather was a discomfort, but Matthew found himself in good spirits about the approaching battle. His stomach twisted and turned, his entire body trembling with adrenaline as he gripped his rifle tight. This was it, the beginning of the battle that would define his future. Being a nation, he wasn't afraid of being mortally wounded (unless of course Ludwig found him, but that was an entirely different story), no, but he was afraid for his men. In fact, he had already began mourning them, knowing that many of them would die. But this was war, and it couldn't be helped, though that never made anyone feel better.

Just three days ago, Matthew had gotten the news that America had declared war on Germany. He wanted so bad to warn his brother face to face of the horrors the Great War held for him, but that kind of technology was still beyond their time, and he just hadn't any time to send a telegram. When he'd gotten the news, it had sparked his resolve to take the ridge even more. He wanted to come out of the shadow that was his brother, and make the battle field that much safer for when he got here.

_5:29 AM_

Canada drew in a shaky breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. He closed his eyes, listening closely to find his heart beat, in which he felt the heart of the nation. Culture, history, identity, it all rushed through him in ways only another nation could understand, or even have a chance at grasping. He began counting down in his head, slowly and to the rhythm of his heart beat, which he knew was time itself.

He exhaled slowly.

_5:30 AM_

The explosions thundered.

**XXXXXX**

_April 12, 1917_

Arthur sat at his desk, fallen asleep with his head resting on his forearm, and the other hand holding an empty bottle of whiskey. A loud thud jolted him from his nap, startling him into grabbing his riffle on instinct, only half aware that a piece of paper was stuck to his cheek. He looked wildly around the room, searching for his enemy. "Huh-What?" He slurred.

"Anglettere!" A heavily accented voiced shouted. Finding the source of the disruption, Britain's eyes fell upon the form of Francis Bonnefoy, personification of France. The man stood in the doorway, arms outstretched to hold both sides of the frame, leaving no where to escape from his apparent fury.

Arthur straightened himself up, wiping the paper off his face. "Wha-... Frog? What the bloody hell are you doing here? You're suppose to be monitoring the southern lines, our next meeting isn't until-"

"Anglettere, what did you do?" Francis cut him off, not caring to answer his question.

"I didn't do anythi-"

"Where is Matthieu?" France asked, stomping over to his ally's desk.

"Umm... I don't know, but what does this have to do with-"

"When was the last time you saw him?" Francis leaned over the desk, his posture set to intimidate.

Arthur put a hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to hold off the oncoming headache. "I don't know, three days ago?"

"How could you not notice he was gone for three days?"

"Well, you know Matthew, he tends to go unnoticed! Besides, even before he that, I didn't see much of him, not after the argument we had. He wanted to command his own army and-"

He had barely finished the sentence before he found himself being pulled roughly toward Francis, over the desk that separated them. "Anglettere, what did you do?"

Arthur pulled halfheartedly at freeing himself from Bonnefoy's hold. "Get your hands off me you bloody frog!" He demanded.

"Arthur, did you tell Matthew to take Vimy?" Francis nearly screamed in his face, shaking him slightly in his hysteria.

Arthur froze in his struggle, eyes widening in gut wrenching realization. "I-I didn't really think he..." He trailed off, the realization suddenly dawning on him.

France shoved him roughly away, sending the smaller man into the map board behind him, though Arthur didn't seem to care. "You have signed his death warrant! Ludwig is rumoured be there!" Francis spat.

Recovering himself from his shock, Britain walked briskly around his desk to face his fellow nation. "Well come on, we can't just stand here and argue, we have to go find him!" He said as he made toward the door, grabbing any supplies he may need for the battle he was expecting.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Three days converted into battle time was three years. Three years he spent on the battle field, amidst the explosions, the gunfire and the shouting. A gruesome combination of mud and blood stained his uniform, soaking into his skin. And now, victory was within reach. His troups had finally stormed the ridge, seizing it, overpowering the Germans at last. Matthew ran along side them, feeling their hearts race and spirits soar all inside in his own.

He stood on top of the ridge for just a moment, his eyes sweeping over the fighting and destroyed cement barracks. Matthew suddenly caught sight of familiar blonde hair, swept back from stricking blue eyes and sharp features. The man's eyes held his own violet orbs, as if studying him. His heart leapt dangerously at the sight of him, but he didn't back down. Canada's meaning was clear, challenging. _"I dare you." _Unexpectedly, instead of attacking, the man nodded and turned his back on the Canadian, soon disappearing gracefully into the fray. Canada watched him go, understanding what the gesture "Another day then."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

It was about an hour and a half's drive from the base to Vimy, and they had to leave the car behind when they made it closer. The two older, experienced nations crept toward the ridge, France leading the way. This was his land after all, he could sense where any mines where hidden in the ground. Together they made it through the crater filled forest, the further in they got, the more bodies they found. All at once, just as they were breaking the tree line, England stopped, pressing a finger to his lips. They paused, listening around for anything out of place.

"Do you hear that?" Arthur asked.

Francis's brows furrowed. "Nothing..."

Arthur's face became ash fallen. "Exactly..."

With no more words, the two broke out into a sprint, France once again leading the way for the other nation. They raced across the never ending field, jumping into any trench they could find for any sign of Matthew. As they made it further and further away from the trenches and closer to the ridge, their hearts clenched, terrified of what they may find. Their imaginations played terrible tricks on them, but it only pushed them to rush faster. Finally, they made it to the ridge, only to find a figure staggering toward the top. On instinct, they both reached for their guns, only to drop them at what they saw as they got closer. Britain and France both stopped dead in their tracks.

Matthew limped to the top of the ridge, covered in cuts, bruises and gashes, his uniform decorated in splashes of scarlet. He stood there for a moment, making eye contact with his allies, before flashing a triumphant grin so reminiscent of his brother's, and collapsing to the scorched ground. He was barely down for a second before Arthur and Francis were at the young man's side, scanning him for any life threatening injuries. But there were none, just laboured, exhausted breathing, and a prideful smile.

Behind them trio, Canadian soldiers were getting to work on aiding the wounded and securing any prisoners, but mostly just celebrating their victory, and mourning the loss of their many friends who died in the battle. The two men watched in awe, before turning their attention back to the blonde boy.

"I can't believe it..." Arthur breathed.

"He did what neither of us could, and he did it in only three days. I think we have been underestimating him, no?" Francis smiled, ruffling Matthew's hair.

"We have... and far too much." Arthur admitted. "No come on frog, let's get him back to the base, the Generals can handle Vimy from here."

**XXXXXX**

The Vimy Ridge Memorial was officially unveiled in 1936, as a permanent reminder of Canadian bravery. It still stands today, on Rue Canadien in Vimy, France, a brilliant giant of white carved stone, depicting the battle, and engraved with the names the soldiers who fought that day. It serves as a grave marker for those whose body was never found, or was unrecognizable, so they too are not forgotten.

Matthew Williams stood at the base of the great monument, hands shoved into the pockets of his red hoodie. His eyes roamed over the stone towering above him, reminding himself of each and every detail that he already memorized years ago. He took in a breath of fresh, french country air, just as a soft gust of wind rolled through, dancing though his wavy, golden locks.

Canada was known through out the world as the Peace Keeping nation nowadays. Never starting or declaring war, only acting as a voice of reason with a strong hand. That's why he didn't need such a huge army, as much as Alfred teased him about it.

Speak of the devil.

"Damn! I forgot how big this rock was!" His twin shouted from his side.

Matthew laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, it's pretty big." He would never forget that battle. The intensity, the explosions, the men falling around him. It was, and remained to that day, the most important battle of his history. Not because of the casualties, or the accomplishments, but because of the significance. That battle shaped his role in the war, proved to everyone that he was no longer just a colony, or a follower of Britain. He was strong, free, and no one would dare question that.

"Mattie? You okay" Alfred's voice, suddenly softer, broke through his thoughts.

Only just noticing the wetness at the corner of his eyes, Matthew laughed, taking his glasses off. He rubbed his sleeve over his eyes, before putting his glasses back in place, a smile still on his face. "Yeah. I'm fine" He answered honestly,

Alfred nodded, turning back to face the monument. "You know, you kicked a lot of ass." He said.

Almost surprised to hear the words coming from his brother, rare as they were, Matt felt his smile growing wider. "Thanks, Al."

Who knew what would happen to his country in the future. If there was one thing he learned in his long life it was that anything was possible. Maybe one day the little country that could would fall, and maybe he would grow magnificent. Whatever was ahead of him, he would meet it head on, and keep close to his heart the same determination that Canadians were known for. So, with a deep breathe, he inhaled the past, knowing that one hundred years ago he stood on that same spot and proved himself to the world, and exhaled, knowing he'd stand here again in another hundred years and take pride in it.

Because he took Vimy Ridge when no one else could.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

**Canada is a bad ass, do not deny this. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I kept it as close to the era as my knowledge let me, meaning no telephones going over seas, because come on, that is just ridiculous! It'll never happen, right? **

**As I have said, there seems to be a lack of fics about historical events, which makes no sense because we are talking about nations here, not soap opera characters, so I intend to fix that.**

**Stay Tuned,**

**Sincerely.**


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